


The Freckles In Our Eyes Are Mirror Images (And When We Kiss They're Perfectly Aligned)

by zade



Category: The Following
Genre: Bloody Kisses, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Twincest, Unhealthy Relationships, offhanded mention of child abuse, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke kisses Mark.  He does it in the same way he kills.  It is harsh and hard and fast and Mark’s lips are burning but he can feel Luke’s smirk against them, that son of bitch.  Luke laughs.</p><p>Mark has haphephobia, so Luke lets him take charge. Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freckles In Our Eyes Are Mirror Images (And When We Kiss They're Perfectly Aligned)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this right before I got to an episode that showed me that Mark's haphphobia doesn't extend to his family, SO PRETEND LIKE IT DOES FOR ME PLEASE.
> 
> Unbeta'd.
> 
> Warnings: twincest, bloody kisses, offhanded mention of child abuse, lots of punching, unhealthy relationships.
> 
> sorry not sorry

Luke is waiting in Mark’s room. Mark can tell he’s there before he opens the door. It’s the feel of the air—heavy, familiar—and the warm buzz like static on his skin. Twins just know these things, Luke says. Mark likes to think it’s just the two of them.

“Did you kiss her, Mark?” Luke asks as soon as Mark opens the door.

Mark laughs and points to the bruise on his face where Emma hit him. “What do you think, Luke?”

Luke is standing, predatory. “I think you kissed her. I think you liked it.” He leans in, takes Mark’s space, and Mark steps back, a dance. “Or maybe she kissed you. Made you squirm like your skin was on fire.” Luke keeps leaning in and Mark is pressed up against the door, skin itching from even the mention. “I wonder who it was who touched you and fucked up your head. One of mother’s attempts at finding us a father? I think it was number three.”

Luke kisses Mark. He does it in the same way he kills. It is harsh and hard and fast and Mark’s lips are burning but he can feel Luke’s smirk against them, that son of bitch. Luke laughs.

Mark pushes Luke away as hard as he can and punches him in the face, left handed, because he is scrubbing at his mouth with his right hand. Luke’s mouth is still twisted in that stupid smirk, but it’s speckled with blood now, and Mark is overcome with the urge to lick it from his brother’s face, so he punches him again.

He follows Luke to the floor, still punching, and Luke has his palms raised, like he’s praying or surrendering. When Mark pauses to catch his breath, straddling Luke’s torso, he realizes he’s crying.

“Fuck you,” Mark spits. 

Luke is still smiling, despite the swelling beginning to change his face. Mark feels a sudden rush of regret. Sometimes Luke can touch him, sometimes mother, too. But usually, any touch starts a chain reaction of skin itching and shame and sweat and fear. He has to hide it around mother, she thinks it’s a weakness. Mark slowly lays his palms against Luke’s and Luke laughs. “You’re my family. I love you, Mark.”

Mark glances back at the door. “Our family is bigger than ourselves.” He takes a deep breath, laces their fingers. “I’m angry with you, Luke.”

Luke laughs again. His teeth are stained red, but blood is not an uncommon sight on Luke. “Don’t be.” Luke tilts his head back, offers Mark his neck.

Mark presses his lips to Luke’s jugular and feels Luke’s heart beat on his tongue.

“Our hearts beat in time,” Luke says.

Mark scoffs. He pauses for a moment and listens, tries to see if the beating on his lips matching the pulsing in his ears. He bites Luke’s neck, a parting gift, and sits up. He looks at his hands. His knuckles are bruised. Uncommon on his body, though not on his brother. He wants to make Luke kiss them. “Don’t provoke me.” He leans down slowly and kisses Luke.

Luke parts his lips, still as corpse, and lets Mark lick the blood of his teeth. Mark bites his lip, but Luke doesn’t move at all, still. Mark guides their hands until Luke’s are crossed above his head.

When they part, the smile slides off Luke’s face. “I hate not being able to touch you, Mark,” he says. Mark presses kisses to bruises blooming on Luke’s face. “I’ve been touching you since we were in the womb. It’s feels like you’re cheating me out of something that is mine.”

Mark holds his hands tight, but Luke doesn’t struggle against him, for once. For once he is still, so still. “Am I something that is yours, Luke?”

Luke smiles, swipes his tongue against his bloody lip. “Kiss me again,” he commands, and Mark does. Luke stays still beneath him still, yielding, accommodating. 

When Mark pulls back, panting, there is a string of spit connecting them. Mark pulls back, his skin suddenly beginning to itch. He untangles their hands, but can still feel the weight of Luke’s hands in his. He supposes it’s a twin thing.

Mark rushes to his feet, wiping his face on his hands and his hands on his pants, suddenly anxious, and too touched.

Luke leans back on his elbows. “You are everything that is mine,” Luke says, and he’s smirking again.

Mark stops pacing and meets his eyes. For a moment they are both still. “You are everything,” Mark says.

Luke struggles his way to his feet. His kisses his fingertips and turn them towards Mark. Mark leans in, smiling, and kisses the offered hand. Luke leaves. Probably to get ice, Mark thinks. Before he goes to sleep, he can feel Luke at this door, knows that Luke blows him a kiss, still smirking, self-satisfied. Mark can feel it, the kiss, buzzing on his skin and tingling on his lips. 

He hopes that this is a gift for just the two of them.


End file.
